Peach Snaps
by A.K.A. Anonymous
Summary: A 'Drunk/Kawaii Quatre' fic! Written originally for Fablespinner's Cheer-Me-Up-Quick Contest, but it's a bit angsty...cute, but angsty. I seem to do that alot.


My first EVER Shonen ai! It's a 3+4!  
  
Title: Peach Snaps  
Author: AKA Anonymous  
Genre: Romance? Slight angst? A touch of humor for flavor...  
Warnings: A few swears, OOCness? Massive sappiness...  
  
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The young man continued to snicker as he tripped over the study's carpet and landed ungracefully, face-first on the leather sofa. "Watch that step, i'sa looloo!" The blonde giggled and sprawled himself along the smooth, soft cushions.   
  
"Oh no!" His companion quickly picked the bumbling boy up by the scruff of the neck and yanked the half-limp figure into a sitting position. "You had a bad spill, I have to make sure you don't have a concussion before I let you sleep this off."  
  
"Awww, com'on, I'm fin--" the aquamarine eyes rolled back into the young man's head. (1)  
  
"Shit." The other young man quickly slapped his 'patient' back to consciousness. "Geez, what did you have to drink? A hundred proof?"  
  
The bleary eyed Quatre Raberba Winner listened to his companion's voice as it echoed across the vast distance between them, a whole two feet. "Drink? No, thanks, I don't like alcohol." He leaned toward the three identical, swaying images staring at him with the same concerned green eyes. "I can't hold liquor for nothing."  
  
Trowa wrinkled his nose at the pungent odor of the other's breath as he watch the boy sway in his seat. "Yeah. Like I said: What did you drink?"  
  
The blonde giggled and tried to act as serious as his companion, but utterly failed. "Ummm..." the young man frowned for a moment, then grinned broadly. "Duo called it Peach Snaps, but-but I only had three!" The swaying boy held up four fingers to illustrate his point.  
  
"Schnapps, Quatre," Trowa corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a pre-migraine headache. "It's a strong liquor, like brandy."  
  
The wide, unfocused eyes blinked several times before the delicate mouth could find the right form for his muddled thoughts. "Damn. I'm *wasted*, aren't I?"  
  
The circus performer nodded. Quatre nodded back, but the movements made the room spin. He felt his body slip into blissful darkness.  
  
The next thing he remembered was being wrapped in strong, warm arms and a half fogged vision of light brown hair. It was too much for his alcohol-overloaded mind to fully comprehend, so he snuggled against the warmth and went back to sleep.  
  
Quatre's rest lasted only long enough for Trowa to carry his intoxicated comrade back to the Arabian's room. Trowa tried not to pay attention to the soft murmurs of his name from the smiling lips brushing against his collar. He definitely tried to explain away the brief look of wonder and happiness carried in the wide blue-green eyes. More difficult to ignore were his own feelings of fierce protectiveness for the remarkable young man he reluctantly settled onto the bed.  
  
Quatre's brow pushed downward as the warmth suddenly left, but gentle fingers shifted his wryly bangs out of his face and gave him the incentive to bring his mind back to semi-coherency.   
  
He could sense the familiar presence with him though his eyes couldn't penetrate the pitch black. Unfortunately, his mind also seemed to be a blank to the ability of focused thought processes of any kind. "Tro'? What?"  
  
"It's alright, Quatre. You're back in your room. You don't have concussion so try and get some sleep or you'll wish you *had* slipped into a coma. As it is, you'll probably wish you didn't have a head at all in the morning."  
  
The blonde replied to his companion's monologue with an uncharacteristic grunt while throwing a rubbery arm over his eyes to help stop the room from moving.  
  
Until he felt a tugging sensation. "What the Hell? Trowa...are you pulling my leg?" Quatre giggled at his own pun, but quickly stopped as the bed did its own loop-de-loops.  
  
"I'm taking off your shoes, idiot," the green-eyed boy growled, more angry at himself for not keeping a better eye on his friend at the party than for Quatre's drunken babble.  
  
"Oh," the other replied softly. Trowa fought the urge to hit himself at the dejected tone. "Are you mad?"  
  
Trowa's face, though not visible to anyone and therefore not very helpful, went blank. "Of course not, Quatre."  
  
"Yes, you are," the tenor voice whispered from the dark. "I can feel it, you know."  
  
"Quatre--" Trowa's heart twisted at the hurt palpable in the other's words.  
  
"I know, I'm sorry. I'm not supposed to say stuff like that." The Arabian rolled on to his side, away from the suppressed emotions of his companion.  
  
"What do you mean?" Worried green eyes strained to find the familiar form. "Quatre, what did you mean, 'not supposed to'?"  
  
The blonde's voice caught as he replied, "Father--he said it wasn't normal. People would treat me differently if they knew."  
  
"Quat..." Trowa sank down to the mattress. His mind tried to process the bitter truth of Mr. Winner's words.  
  
The term 'Newtype', though generally known and speculated upon, was only that, in most minds--a term. Not a brutal reality of gradual human evolution--or mutation--depending on your views, but a safe little 'myth' thought up by a long dead politician from space.(2)  
  
Only a handful of people knew the truth--Newtypes existed already. Very few, yes, but those few had helped change the course of all humanity. Thankfully, they had no visible variations from normal humans, only possessing greater strength, agility, 'intuitions', and stamina.  
  
All five of the Gundam pilots could easily fit that profile, but most people contributed their abilities to their rigorous training. Quatre, though, had very little training compared to the rest, but had significantly greater powers from his Newtype intuition. He proved himself to be as strong, if not stronger than the others time and again.  
  
The greatest of his abilities were those he never consciously used. His empathy, the way he spread a sense of calm in the room he was in...his innocent eyes looking at you like you were someone special...   
  
Trowa felt a tug from his chest at the memories of his comrade's soulful eyes. While in Quatre's presence he always felt a greater peace then he ever thought possible to feel while he was a mercenary or a Gundam pilot.  
  
The brown-haired man shook his head. 'It's more than that,' his heart demanded.  
  
'It's not really for you. He doesn't even know his effects,' the battle hardened soldier replied.  
  
He couldn't deny that the blonde's company brought him a sense of completion. A wholeness that made his body tremble at the thought of someone telling him he was a freak.  
  
Quatre could sense Trowa's struggle. From anger to disbelief to...some strong pull...and back to anger again. The alcohol had begun to wear off as he spoke of his father and now the blonde wished he could return to the hazy half-consciousness. He wanted to forget the whole conversation. The whole damned night. 'Oh, Trowa, don't hate me,' the boy's heart drummed.  
  
'Like he could ever love you,' his mind sneered.  
  
The silence only served to magnify Quatre's fears. He mentally berated himself for getting drunk and acting so stupid--and in front of Trowa, no less. 'Damn it, why can't I stop being so weak?'  
  
Trowa didn't notice the quiet change in his friend's breathing until the boy's silent crying gently shook the bed. His eyes, now more adjusted to the dark, could make out the slim, trembling form. In that moment his heart and brain ceased functioning and his body moved without conscious permission.  
  
When the moment had passed Trowa found himself cradling his heart's desire in his arms while his mouth murmured soothing phrases he didn't even knew he knew. The situation was one he desired, but not on he wanted.  
  
While Quatre's face buried itself in his shoulder and the young man clung to him like a magnet, he didn't know if it was from the need to be comforted, or more like Trowa's. The need to be loved.  
  
Quatre didn't know exactly when he stopped crying for pain and started crying for joy. He only knew that Trowa's arms were around him, the soft baritone voice whispering into his neck. Quatre's heart and mind stopped for a moment as he pulled back, then leaned forward again.  
  
Trowa reluctantly let Quatre loose from his arms for a second time that night and almost started explaining his abrupt actions when he felt the other's weight shifting back.  
  
Quatre didn't know if it was the Schnapps or his own eagerness that made him capture his companion's mouth with ferocity. What he did know was the reaction. 'Oh, God, what have I done?'  
  
Trowa was completely unprepared for Quatre's crushing kiss. He felt his body tense and pull away slightly.   
  
He could also feel Quatre's anguish.  
  
The blonde's heart shattered in the space of a single kiss. He couldn't find his voice to beg forgiveness and he couldn't stand the silence of his desired. 'Now he won't even want to see me. How could I-'  
  
'-have been so stupid?' Trowa demanded of his mind. He felt Quatre's withdrawal from his lap like a knife cutting him in two, the other half of his being moved to the edge of the bed. It felt like there was no strength left in his body. All of his energy focused on the two nagging voices of his warring psyche and ignoring the intense ache in his chest.  
  
'He's drunk, you idiot. He doesn't know what he's doing.' The soldier's voice in him said. 'He doesn't love you.'  
  
'You know he does,' his heart whispered back.  
  
The bed shifted. Trowa snapped his head up, shaking all thoughts but one, the voice of another soldier.  
  
'Act on your emotions.'  
  
Quatre stood to leave, but suddenly found himself anchored in place. A hand with strong, callused fingers encircled his wrist from the darkness.  
  
He had only a second to be dumbstruck before the hand pulled him backwards. The night produced another hand that slipped up his shoulder to his chin and gently tipped it up.  
  
The blonde Gundam pilot shivered at the light touches and felt a few whisps of hair brush his cheek as the other's mouth brushed his.  
  
Trowa could taste traces of alcohol and bitter tears on his love's lips. 'Two things I'll never let him have again.'  
  
The kiss was soft, warm, and most of all, backed with love. Quatre was overwhelmed with the contact that shot his sixth sense through the roof and sent his mind reeling in a pleasant way. 'This is what I've wanted. I want to give him this feeling.'  
  
As their lips drew back Quatre breathed one sentence that brought a full smile to Trowa's mouth.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Trowa rested his forehead on Quatre's, "Tell me that again-"  
  
"I lo-"  
  
"I meant when you're not drunk, Quat."  
  
"Oh," the Arabian murmured, "sorry."  
  
The sleek European caught his companion as the boy began to slip back into unconsciousness. "I love you, too, Quatre."  
  
Quarte wrapped his arms around the other's neck, not willing to let the near-disastrous night end alone. In the end, Trowa resigned himself to falling back on the bed with him--kicking off his shoes with his feet as his left arm was pinned under the weight of the half-sleeping blonde. "Remind me to thank Duo in the morning...before I kill him..."  
  
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Disclaimer: See the aforementioned hotties? I don't own them. Simple, huh?  
  
(1): I think there is a similar scene in '10 Things I Hate About You'...I watched it a few days ago.  
(2)/Author's Notes: Thanks for reading! The only thing I wanted to comment on was the 'Newtype' theory. I read somewhere (maybe Gundamofficial.com?) that Colony Rep. Heero Yuy was the first one to theorize on them, in this universe. If I'm wrong, please correct me. I hate giving out bad info. -A.K.A. Anonymous  
  
E-mail gladly accepted: Theanonymous12000@yahoo.com 


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